Chapter 5 - The Moretti Retaliation
By midnight, the quiet calm of the Rossi estate was shattered.
Skylar was sitting at the oak desk in the study, reviewing the household inventory logs that Dominic had asked her to audit, when a series of dull, rhythmic thuds echoed from the lower courtyard.
*Thump. Thump. Thump.*
Skylar froze. She stood up from the desk, walking quickly to the window.
Below, the massive wrought-iron security gates of the estate were crumpled inward, twisted like tin foil. Two black SUVs had plowed right through them, idling in the courtyard with their high beams blindingly bright, casting erratic shadows against the white stone facade of the mansion.
Alarms began to wail—a shrill, ear-piercing shriek that echoed across the valley.
"Stay here," Dominic’s voice barked from the doorway.
Skylar whirled around. Dominic was fully dressed in a black tactical turtleneck and dark trousers, sliding a heavy Glock pistol into a shoulder holster beneath his arm. His face was carved from granite—no fear, only cold, calculated rage.
"Mr. Rossi, what's happening?" Skylar asked, her breath catching in her throat.
"Salvatore Moretti decided to send a message," Dominic said smoothly, walking past her toward the private armory hidden behind the bookcase. "He thinks because his daughter cried, he can walk into my home and take what he wants."
Heavy boots echoed down the hallway as Marco and six armed security operatives assembled outside the study door, weapons drawn, clad in body armor.
"Boss, they breached the outer perimeter," Marco reported sharply, his voice devoid of panic. "Fourteen men, armed with automatic rifles. They're coming through the main conservatory."
Dominic stepped out of the armory holding a suppressed MP5 submachine gun, checking the magazine with practiced ease. He looked back at Skylar, who stood frozen by the desk.
"Lock this door from the inside," Dominic instructed, his tone absolute. "Do not open it for anyone except me or Marco. Do you understand?"
"Dominic—" Skylar breathed, stepping forward.
He stopped, reaching out with one gloved hand to grip her shoulder. His dark eyes locked onto hers, burning with an intensity that defied the chaos raging outside.
"I'm not going to let anything happen to my mother," Dominic said quietly. "And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
Before Skylar could reply, gunfire erupted downstairs. The shattering of glass—dozens of expensive conservatory window panes exploding simultaneously—sounded like rolling thunder.
Dominic turned and vanished into the corridor, leading his men into the firefight.
Skylar’s heart pounded against her ribs. She rushed to the heavy oak door, turned the brass deadbolt, and slid the iron security bolt into place. The sound of shouting, heavy gunfire, and the dull thuds of concussive grenades echoed upward through the floorboards.
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She wasn't just a clumsy maid anymore. She was trapped in the epicenter of a mafia war, and the man who had defended her was down there fighting for his life.
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